


You Won't Be Alone

by Steel_Dragon



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 10:32:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4742975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steel_Dragon/pseuds/Steel_Dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simmons is terrified of being left all alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Won't Be Alone

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Panic attacks

He was lying in the middle of the base. Curled up into an awkward ball of maroon armor, his breath coming shallow and quick. He tried to force himself to breath evenly. It worked, for a moment, before it sped back up and he bit his lip to keep from screaming.

Oh, did he want to scream. To shout as loud as he could, to just let it out. To alleviate some of the utter terror he was currently bathed in. But if he yelled, if he made any more noise than just the quiet sounds of his panting, his team mates would be alerted. The last thing he wanted right now was anyone coming in. He couldn’t take any noise, couldn’t bear anyone even attempting to touch him.

His hands came up and covered his ears as he let out a shaky sob. Everyone was fine, they were fine, no one was going to die, no one… They were going to die and he’d be left all alone. The nagging voice in his mind pressed the fact that everyone, absolutely everyone, was as good as dead.

He couldn’t help it; his mouth opened and he let out a low moan that was separated by sobs. He heard foot steps. No, no, no, not now, why now? Why when he was just reaching the peak of his attack?

“Simmons..?” Came the tentative voice. Simmons curled in tighter on himself, his hands clamping even tighter around his ears. “Simmons, are you okay?”

He shook his head, trying to shrink into the ground. This was the worst case scenario. The orange soldier’s voice was like nails on a chalk board. Thud, thud, thud. He heard the heavy foot falls of the other man, rattling inside his head. He felt a hand come down on his back. He lashed out, scrambling to get away.

“D-don’t touch me… P-please,” Simmons whimpered. He stared at Grif with wide eyes. His helmet lay a few feet away. When he had felt the attack coming on, he’d taken it off, letting it drop to the floor and roll away. Grif slowly reached up and took his own off, black hair falling into his face. He just nodded and sat down.

Simmons curled his knees to his chest, resting his head on them. Thankfully Grif wasn’t talking, wasn’t asking what was happening, wasn’t trying to touch him. Simmons breathed out through his mouth, then sucked in air through his nose. He repeated it several times until he felt a little more calm.

“Sorry…” He murmured, scrubbing at his eyes. He was coming down, starting to feel exhausted and empty. He was used to the routine by now. Grif shrugged, worry sparking in his eyes. “Had a, um, panic attack.”

“Oh,” Was the only response. Simmons sighed, looking at his closest friend. He wanted nothing more than to simply lay down and close his eyes. To never wake up, to just not feel anything anymore. “You okay now?”

Simmons lifted his shoulders and let them drop. Grif frowned.

“Just tired,” He said, his voice void of emotion. It was so unlike him. His feelings had always shone through in his voice, in his mannerisms. Grif carefully slid forward, placing his hand gently on Simmons’s shoulders. When Simmons made no move to shake him off, he slowly lifted the Maroon clad man’s upper half, settling it in his lap. Simmons felt gloved fingers slowly move through his curly red hair.

“Kai used to get anxiety attacks, too, until she started taking meds,” Grif explained, his voice low and comforting. “You wanna talk about it?”

Simmons turned his eyes to Grif’s tanned face, marred by the patch of milky white skin crudely stitched on. The strip of flesh continued down his neck until it disappeared under his armor. Their eyes locked and Simmons had a moment to admire the perfect ocean blue of the other man’s eyes.

“I’m scared,” Simmons didn’t exactly know where to start. He’d never talked about his fears with anyone before. Grif nodded encouragingly. “We’re at war, and… and sometimes I just start thinking about… what would happen if I lost everyone. If I was all alone, without Sarge, or Donut, or the blues, or you.” He pursed his lips, a small shudder running through him.

“Hey, we’re tougher than you give us credit for,” Grif grinned at him. Simmons found himself giving Grif a small smile back. A genuine smile, despite the emptiness he felt inside his chest. There was a small flicker of happiness.

“Yeah… I just, can’t help it. Half of me is convinced that something terrible is going to happen no matter what, while the other half is trying to stay rational. Sometimes I just feel like I’m being ripped apart.” Simmons voice was rising in pitch. Grif ran a thumb across his cheek soothingly.

“I know,” He whispered softly. Simmons didn’t speak after that, and Grif didn’t press. Instead, Grif just kept playing lazily with the springy hair Simmons possessed. After a little while of easy silence, Simmons felt his eyelids drooping. He felt bone-tired, and allowed himself to slip into the thoughtless abyss of sleep. 


End file.
